


o wandering star, welcome home

by sunsongs



Category: Witch's Heart (Video Game)
Genre: Bonus Stage Spoilers (Witch's Heart), Character Study, Dreams and Nightmares, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23094799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsongs/pseuds/sunsongs
Summary: Ashe finds a reason to stay. It keeps him human.His touch feels like the first time you saw the sun rise over the sea, an emotion swelling in you like the tide. You could almost call it fondness. You could almost call it love.
Relationships: Ashe Bradley & Everyone, Ashe Bradley & Lilia Bradley, Ashe Bradley/Noel Levine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	o wandering star, welcome home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imitationflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitationflower/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy, @imitationflower. Rarepair fans unite!

"I saw this once in a dream, you know.” you murmur. Its honeyed sweetness still lingers on your tongue upon waking. The relief almost made you lightheaded, stealing the spring from your step -- sending you sprawling, instead. You laughed aloud. It didn’t sound like you. That giddy, trembling mirth sounded half-hysterical. 

The aroma of marigolds haunts you now. It’s warm on your skin, like incense clinging to the silken folds of your changshan. Familiar. You’ll embrace the ghost of almost-memory, as long as it means not waking with the taste of salt and ashes on your tongue. 

Salt for tears. Ashes for flames. You know the story. No use in telling a tale you’ve told yourself a thousand times. Had it burned into your mind’s eye so you’d never forget.

“We were happy,” you tell him, matter-of-fact. Your mind's a little hazy from the... how many glasses? of wine, but you can't forget the way you ran your fingers through his hair and he had let you. Closed his eyes with a contented smile, leaning into your touch. You want this dream to come true the way your mother told you the moon was made of cheese. You were five, and you wanted to eat the moon. You started building a spaceship out of shoeboxes. Your mother would laugh until tears came to her eyes when she told you this story, and Lilia'd embarrass you by telling all her friends. 

“There were more flowers than I could count, but I wouldn’t mind…” You murmur. Memory eludes you. Slips through your fingers like so much sand. Oh… You remember it now, but you can’t bring yourself to say it:

I wouldn’t mind counting them all with you. 

It brings to mind a dream that brings the tang of salt spray to your tongue. Lilia was running across the beach. She told you she was going to beat the world record. It was the middle of winter, when her illness was still in its preliminary stages. The fact of its severity hadn’t quite sunk in. 

Still, you were stumbling after her through the sand, looking like a fool because you were her big brother, and she was your everything. You wanted to hug her close and protect her from the world. You would not have traded her for anything, even when she tugged too tight at your braid with sticky, sugary fingers and scattered cookie crumbs all over your sheet music.

You don’t know how she convinced your parents to bring her there. A brisk wind made you want to pull the scarf snug around your shoulders and wrap her in its warmth, scolding her for coming out here in the bitter cold. But she was laughing, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her from singing and sprinting barefoot along the shore, smiling without a care in the world.

You remember. Dawn by the ocean, the lull of the waves. Lilia was rubbing her eyes. But yours were wide open. You didn’t want to miss a second, because mother said it’s the kind of sight that’ll disappear if you aren’t looking. Blink, and it’s gone. 

Isn’t it beautiful? you asked her, and she looked halfway between nodding and nodding off. Little birds were circling above the shore. Three, two, one, and Lilia was waving her arms like she was ready for liftoff, snapping wide awake at their cheery cries. Gasping: look, brother, look -- they look like they’re coming home! 

Funny thing is, you’ve been stuck in this mansion long enough that it’s starting to feel like it.

You can tell Claire’s been in the kitchen because the dishes are practically sparkling in the sink -- and Sirius, too, if there’s one less wineglass in the cupboard. (… Can’t blame him, really.) Wilardo doesn’t care for such frivolities -- he’ll just take whatever cup’s available. Meanwhile, at least three eggs will serve as casualties to Noel’s attempts at cooking, if no one’s there to watch him.

That’s why you have to be there. Wouldn’t want to come back to a mansion flooded with smoke. Can’t say it’d suit the decor. Sirius would have your hide -- and besides, you’ve almost become fond of the room you’ve come to call your own.

“... Wouldn’t mind what, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asks, closing his eyes. It’s not like either of you have forgotten his wariness around your fabricated smiles, the sting of rejection as he shoved you back. That frigid expression… it’s almost as if he knew of the scalpel blades up your sleeves. 

Sometimes you see that same cold fury reflected in your eyes, and you have to resist the urge to shatter glass: a seamless surface that mocks you with its pristine perfection. All that you lack. You don’t deserve these gentle dreams, this quiet kindness. Happy endings are reserved for people like him, but then again… good people don’t always get what they deserve.

You’d invited him into your room, saying it was dangerous to be out so late. His gentle voice draws you back from the cries of seagulls into the silence of the mansion, though you can hear the snarls of lower-level demons prowling the halls. How pleasant it is, the way moonlight frames his face. The night suits him, you think. That steadfast silence hides so many secrets in its shadows without rhyme nor rhythm, innumerable as a stanza filled to the brim with stars. 

Noel’s voice is distant -— like he’s picturing it, too: sunlight flooding the fields, dressed to the nines in glimmering gold. Soaking up the scent of flowers, unfurling in the breeze. You, drinking in the sight of his smile without shadows, without a furrow in his brow. You stare a while -- taking it in, committing every moment to memory. You are afraid you will never see this again. 

“...Huhh, it’s a little embarrassing…” You are afraid that if you put it into words, the dream will fade from your memory like so much smoke. 

“Embarrassing, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t laugh.” He reassures you, giving you an awkward pat. How endearing, yet... he’s too kind. That kindness will come back to haunt him, someday, and maybe that’s another reason you don’t take off running. You find yourself forgetting heartlessness in his presence, taken off-guard by his genuine, easy mirth. It’s not hard to make him smile. 

You see his half-smiles more often than not: crescent moons, never whole. And never quite hale, either -- especially as of late.

“Welllll… we were holding hands!” you tease, dragging out every syllable into song. It might be because it’s one in the morning that you’re being so bold. It might be because of the -- you _still_ can't remember how many -- glasses of wine you drank earlier in the evening, loosening your tongue. Noel wouldn’t approve, you think, not if he knew how often you raided Sirius’s cupboards for another taste. Not just to incite his temper, no, but to forget. To drown out the taste of ashes for a hazy, incoherent fog.

Ignorance really is bliss. Pity, then, that it never lasts. 

“Ah, err… Care to show me?” He's getting a little bolder, now, meeting your gaze without shying away. You’re surprised he’s letting you so close, but he seems to sense that you don’t mean him any harm. Not tonight, when all the shadows seem to fall behind you and you’re half-starved for his light. You’ve lived so long sharpening your knives, you’ve almost forgotten this feeling. Fluttering, fragile: a fledgling sparrow’s wings.

You feel as if you are on the edge of a precipice, the stage of one of your recurring dreams. Below is the unfathomable abyss. 

You once dreamed of falling. 

A thousand faces flashed before you, but all you can remember are your sister’s strained smiles, staring out the window with a sigh. She always tried to be brave for her big brother. She never liked it when you saw her cry. So you would strike up something lively, launching into the snappy syncopation of a popular ragtime tune. _Dance with me, dance with me!_ She’d laugh, and your willpower would crumble. Euphoria would sing through your veins. You could never say no to that sunny smile. 

Mother’s worried frown flickered before you. You could almost feel the phantom sensation of her smoothing back sweat-soaked bangs. Snatches of her lullabies calmed the crashing waves, stilled the stormy seas of your dreams. Your father, too, drew you from the fathomless depths of nightmares, his low voice telling you story after story. He never stopped until your hands stopped shaking. He always stayed until you drifted back into sweeter dreams.

It always pains you to wake from this dream, without the low tones of Father’s voice telling you to get up, sleepyhead. Daylight’s a-wasting. Your sister's a-waiting. 

It’s not the same without your sister dragging you out of bed with her silly songs. With hands on her hips, she’d huff that she’d written the lyrics herself, so chin up, mister! Don’t forget we’re having donuts today, ‘kaaay?

You never had the heart to tell her she always sang offkey.

It used to be easy. What’s another stranger in the face of what you have to lose? But now your hands shake at the thought of Claire’s sunny smiles clouded over with tears, the wistfulness in Sirius’s voice at having a home to return to. He, too, has a precious person he would put his life on the line to protect. 

You have no one left. 

You find a kindred spirit in Wilardo. You wonder how far he’s willing to go to grant his wish. The world may turn its back on people like you, but you’ve traveled this wretched path far enough that there’s no turning back. You try to convince yourself of this. Tell yourself a lie enough times, and maybe you’ll believe it.

Ah, but Noel catches you in the act every time. When you saw him collapsed in the hallway, fear seized you in a vice grip, icy talons curling around your throat. You knew that feeling well, but it did little to prepare you for it: a primal, visceral panic that blurred your vision and made your breath catch in your throat. Relief flooded your veins when you saw color returning to his pallid skin as he smiled at your antics alongside Claire. 

It’s been so long since you’ve seen the sun. Is this what it’s like to see a star firsthand?

You hadn’t realized how heavy guilt weighed on your shoulders. Not until he said he felt sorry for those who had suffered by his father’s hand. Not wanting to blame the deceived, hm? A foreign concept, seeing as you’ve always blamed yourself. Even so, his words… make you feel just a little bit lighter.

His starry-eyed delight over the smallest things (star-shaped carrots, hm? How… cute.) makes you wonder if this is what an astronaut feels when they remember gravity, and oh, that smile… 

That wretched path is becoming harder and harder to tread, filling with fog. On good days, you can see the crossroads diverge, another path manifesting alongside it. It leads to fields ripe with flowers: a path you will not have to travel alone. It leads to sunny days filled with the bright sound of Claire’s laughter and Sirius’s ill-concealed mirth, Wilardo’s smirks and Noel’s half-smiles made whole.

… You’ve spent so long looking at the shadows that you’ve forgotten the light.

Noel’s looking away, like the floor is the most fascinating subject in the room. Look who’s embarrassed now, huh? “Was there anything else in that dream of yours?”

“Well,” you hum, a grin dancing at your lips. You're inching closer, one brow raised. He looks at you with a small smile. You can almost imagine him offering his hand like a fabled prince. Ever the gentleman, you muse. You smile, sardonic. Your life was the farthest you could get from a fairytale. 

But you don’t mind this story that’s unfolding. All tales must meet their end, but you’ve always been selfish. You want this to last for eternity. And if not -- well. You might have to settle for a long time. 

You can save mortification for tomorrow morning. With a smile like that, you can’t bring yourself to deny him. Later, you wonder if you will call this foolish vulnerability weakness: blunting all your sharp edges. Every time you try to force yourself to forget this fleeting feeling, it makes more and more of a home in your heart. Strange. You never allowed yourself to notice, before, but… its absence leaves you hollow.

(It’s becoming harder and harder to ignore that voice, filled with kindness you’ll never deserve. Whispering: It will keep you human. It will keep you whole.)

“You were braiding my hair, I’ll have you know.” 

Noel reaches out to tuck a stray strand behind your ear without much thought. You know this because his eyes widen, like he’d acted without thinking. An action born of care, hm? You reassure him, then, welcoming his touch. You find yourself unable to look away. 

His touch feels like the first time you saw the sun rise over the sea, an emotion swelling in you like the tide. You could almost call it fondness. You could almost call it love. 

What is a hand to hold? After an endless winter, it is the tender promise of spring. A wistful whisper winding through the trees. Sweet like the wind’s sigh across a still shore, the song of a sea breeze. So when he offers you his hand, you take it. 

“Oh? Was I, now." There's mirth in his voice as he leans in, close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne. You could almost call him smooth, if his reddening ears didn't give him away. ...Cute. "…Want me to give it a try?”

You hold that promise close and pray spring will find its way to thaw the endless winter of your dreams. 

You hold it close, and don’t let go.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @imitationflower's lovely art!
> 
> https://twitter.com/steelforgedbond/status/1234639293773230081


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